Round and Round

Ever since I took Spencer out for some hot laps at the local high school, he has been asking to go back. The guy who ran us off that day made it pretty clear that bikes were not allowed on the track, so I always had to say no. Yesterday, the boy asked if we could run there instead. Even though I am not a runner, I thought, "Why not?"

We went over there earlier this morning.  Keep in mind that I have not done much running—OK, any running—in years.  As a cyclist, I have pretty stringent rules against it.  I worry about my knees and ruining my pedal stroke.  I occasionally run toward free beer and away from armed assasins, but that's it.

I only ended up running a mile, which was plenty.  I walked another mile trying to get the kinks out, but it didn't work.  My quads and back are pretty sore already.  There will be hell to pay tomorrow for sure.

Spencer ran and walked for 2.75 miles, and appeared to enjoy himself:

The kid's got a nice stride.

On my last lap, I couldn't help but ask myself what the hell I was doing.  Then it occurred to me it might be a sign.  There is one cycling discipline that does require a little running:

Coincidence?  We'll see.

Later.